


Coldness

by Centum



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Lord Cytharat - Freeform, M/M, SWTOR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centum/pseuds/Centum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Theron Shan there was Lord Cytharat, and Darth Marnh is a wounded man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coldness

I can't sleep.

I stare at the ceiling of my cabin. Lord Cytharat is in deep, peaceful sleep next to me. I listen to his breathing. Someone sleeping next to you after good sex...you would think it is the most enjoyable place to be, for him and for me. But just like the ceiling I'm staring at, my feelings are hidden behind the darkness. So am I. I don't know who I am. I'm hollow. Every desperate action I take to fill my emptiness just makes it more obvious. I'm numb. I have this body, and I have this mind, and they don't connect anymore. My body can enjoy while my mind is far away, not knowing why I do the things I do.

I want to sleep. I want to forget. And I want that man out of my cabin. For good.

His hand is around my waist and I want to push it away. But if I do that, he might wake up. He might want to speak with me, touch me in a ways that mean something. He might see I'm not the person he thought I am. The person I pretended to be, just to get him into this bed with me. Why? Because for a moment it feels good. For a moment I can pretend it is enough for me. For a moment I can believe I'm a real Sith, following my passions and searching for pleasure.

He likes me, I know he likes me. I don't want him to like me. It didn't stop me from seducing him and stringing him along to think there might be something more between us than sex. He is a good man. He is everything I always wanted to be: pure blooded Sith, full of dignity and confidence. He has a reputation of being a careful and serious person who does nothing for a whim. I think he is kind. Yet, he is respected and honoured. I don't understand what I have to do to be respected and honoured like that. How much I have to kill and terrorise. If I would have been a kind person like him, I would be dead already. This world definitely isn't a fair place.

Carefully, inch by inch I push his hand away from me and stand up. Silently I walk into the toilet. I wish when I come out he has woken up and left. I hope it doesn't take too long for him to get the message.

I sit on the floor and I want to smash my head on the wall. Anything to hide this pain. I can tolerate pain if it is in my body, but what do you do with the pain that is in your mind, eating you alive every moment you live? I try to hold my tears. It is frightening to see what you need but just can't get. Not in this life they gave you. "It was not my choice," I whisper to myself. And it was not. From the day I was born, I just tried to survive. Then they threw me in a life of a Sith and I had to double my efforts to survive. I have survived. But the young boy who sat on the desert at night, looking at the stars, longing for something, _someone,_ to be with him there...I'm afraid he did not survive.

I stand up and look at the mirror. Gods, how much I hate what I see. You miserable being, you disgusting creature. Why did you do that? Why did you let him think you will give him something, anything more than your dick? That you even have something to give, when you know you don't have anything to give to anyone? "Because you are a Sith and that is what you do, why do you have to make such a fuss about it?" I say to myself in the mirror.

Rage is growing in me and in sudden outburst, I smash my fist into the mirror. Glass shatters on the floor, and I can see my fist bleeding. At first I don't feel any pain, and then it hits me like a hammer and I grit my teeth so hard I bite my tongue. But I can take this physical pain over the other pain at any given moment. I hear a knock on the door.

"Are you alright, what happened?" It is Lord Cytharat. For a second I forgot he is there. I look at my bleeding hand and then I just quickly wrap a towel around it. There is nothing I can do to hide the broken mirror and the glass all over the toilet. I have to open the door, no way around it.

I can't face Lord Cytharat's eyes when I finally open the door. He looks at the mess in the toilet, sighs and leads me by the hand to sit on the bed.

"Let me see that. I'm gifted with some talent for healing." He opens the towel, carefully picks the shattered glass from my wounds and then shuts his eyes. His hand rests on mine and I can feel the comforting coolness radiating from him. After a few moments my hand is healed and I can see only some very light scars.

"Why do you think you have to do something like that? What is haunting you?" He asks now.

"I'm a weak Sith. I'm nothing like you. There can be nothing between us after this!" I hiss between my teeth.

"Well, "weak" is not the first thing that comes to my mind when I think about you." His yellow eyes are full of worry and I hate it. Why must he be so kind to me? I don't want any of it. I don't deserve it. Lord Cytharat sighs:

"I can heal the wounds in your hand, but I can't heal the wound in your spirit. I wish I could."

His hand touches now my face, traces the lines of my lips and my chin. His touch is warm and tender. I have to make every effort for not to cry. I can't cry in front of him. I can't cry in front of any of them.

"Marnh, you are a sexy little thing and of course I wanted you. But I know you are not emotionally available, not now, maybe not ever. I wish you would be, but I'm not delusional. I'm looking for a partner, but it does not stop me from enjoying some benefits on the way, now does it? Don't take this too seriously. The galaxy is filled with men, and I will meet someone who is available for me," he smiles when he says that.

So, I'm not only a disgusting creature, I'm insignificant too. Who would have guessed.

"I wish your view of being a Sith wouldn't be so...narrow. I understand you want to be alone and you want to be left alone, but you know, you don't _have_ to. This coldness is not demanded from you. There are just as many ways to be a Sith as there are Sith."

In his thoughts he takes my hand and his warm fingers caress it while he looks at the distance. Silence around us is like a thick curtain. I look at his eyes and see they are empty. He does not move. He does not see me. He is looking at something outside of this moment. Then he wakes up, sighs deeply and smiles at me.

"It will happen sooner than you think, and when it happens, you will know."

"What, what did you see?" Some Force sensitive have an ability to see beyond the limits of time, but I'm not one of them. Lord Cytharat clearly is. But he doesn't answer to my question. He just kisses me on the forehead and stands up. I understand he is leaving. I'm relieved. And shamed. It is shameful to drive someone out in the middle of the night after you had sex with them.

"I understand you are uncomfortable now, but I really like to work with you. I wish we will work together again in the future, and I hope we can stay as friends," he says and I can see he means it. He bows his head as a goodbye. I don't say anything because I'm a slave with no manners, what can you expect?

At the door he suddenly turns to look at me and says something I will remember in the days to come:

"He is waiting for you too, he just doesn't know it, not like you do."

Then he opens the door and leaves.

I'm bewildered. "He is waiting?" What was that supposed to mean. And "him?" It is a well-known fact that I prefer men but still? I have no intent to bond with anyone, and why would I bond with a man? The only reason to tolerate someone in your life are children and powerful relatives. Every Sith knows that. Well, obviously Lord Cytharat didn't get that memo. Finally, I fall in restless sleep, and I wake up feeling like shit.

I take Andronikos for a "small" bandit raid. I don't know how many hundreds we kill, I don't count. When we come back the next day I'm covered in blood and tissue, and the smell of ozone lingers around me for days. Andronikos is exhausted and angry, and doesn't speak to me for a week.

When I remember Lord Cytharat's words I push them away. I don't have time for such a nonsense. I'm too busy in running away from myself. I'm too busy in pretending to be someone I'm not.


End file.
